


Move my Pinkie

by Bumocusal



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: African Dream Root kind of, Attempt at Humor, Coma, Crack, Crack Treated Seriously, Derek sees into Stiles mind, F/M, Fae & Fairies, Faeries - Freeform, I don't know how to tag this, I tried to be funny, M/M, Mentions of Rape, Sheriff Stilinski's Name is John, Short One Shot, Wolf Derek, but really, dream walking, get's kind of real for a second, nothing bad, stiles in a coma
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-04
Updated: 2016-08-04
Packaged: 2018-07-15 16:52:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,149
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7230757
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bumocusal/pseuds/Bumocusal
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>Derek’s head lays on Stiles' chest. “Stiles, you’ve been in a coma for three months.”</i>
</p><p>  <i>The room felt muggy.</i></p><p>  <i>“Basically, you’ve been dead for three months.”</i></p><p> <br/>Or, Stiles get's mind fucked by faeries and left in a coma.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Move my Pinkie

**Author's Note:**

> Sorry
> 
> (The reason this is so short is because I'm trying to weed out my WIP folder. 
> 
> I'm going to be posting a lot of things like this; Stories that are set up for more, but end quickly.
> 
> I've got too many incomplete stories. So, fuck it. Amirite?)

When Stiles comes too, or rather feels like he’s lucid again, he can’t move.

He wills himself to at least fucking twitch his pinkie, but nothing. It’s like a weight is constricting him to this non-mobility.

It’s excruciatingly annoying, considering the last thing he remembers, he was rushing over to Derek’s to give him some valuable information on the monster they were fighting.

He hears a rhythmic beeping sound, like a heart monitor, and it almost freaks him out.

But, he’s been hooked up to a heart monitor so many times this past year, it’s lost its lustre.

Before he can try and move his pinkie again, he hears a clicking sound and footsteps, then a rustling sound beside him, “Hey, bro.”

 _Thank God,_ Stiles thinks, _it’s Scott._

“This is so weird, talking and you not responding,” He hears Scott sigh, “But, your Dad says that he’s sure you can hear him, so I’m giving it a shot.”

Stiles tries to process this information. Has his dad been talking to him while he’s been laying here?

How long has he been resting here?

All these questions sit on his tongue, but he can’t speak.

“Not that much has happened since you-” Scott cuts himself off, “Since you left us. We figured out how to kill those bastard faeries, thanks to your bookmarks. And thankfully, nothing else has really happened since.”

 _How long have I been gone?_ Stiles screams in his head, no words come out of his lips.

“You being a vegetable is kinda hard to believe, y’know?” Scott continues.

 _No, I don’t know,_ Stiles snarks back.

“It’s like, you’ve gone on a vacation or something. Because you’re not dead, the pack bond hasn’t been broken, but it feels wrong, man,” Stiles can hear the watery laugh and begs his body to move.

 _Let me comfort him,_ Stiles shouts, _let me squeeze his hand_.

Nothing happens.

“I mean, you’re in a fucking coma,” Scott says, “No brain activity and it’s like, the pack is going nuts without you. So, Stiles, if you can really hear me. Please stop being so goddamn lazy and get up, already.”

 _Wish I could, Scotty_ , Stiles sighs, trying to move his pinkie again.

He hears the chair scrape against the floor, Scott's angry muttering, “I knew John was lying.”

 _Please don’t leave_ , Stiles shouts, _help me!_

Then Scott leaves the room, and it’s unbearably quiet. It’s like this thick fog of uneasiness settles over him, and before he can reason with it, the door bangs open.

A heavy cologne filters into his nose. It’s Derek.

“Stiles, I know you can hear me,” Derek snarled, “Scott might not understand the spikes of your monitor, but I can tell you’re listening to me by the beat of your heart.”

 _Thank God,_ Stiles thinks, _what’s going on Derek?_

Derek’s head lays on Stiles' chest. “Stiles, you’ve been in a coma for three months.”

The room felt muggy.

“Basically, you’ve been dead for three months.” _No, I haven’t. I’m still alive you fuckin-_

“Lydia thinks it was the faeries. She swears they put some curse on you and that it can be broke. I’m trying not to get my or the packs hope up, but maybe she’s right,” Derek speaks quickly, face warm on Stiles cold body.

It felt nice; Human contact. “So I’m here to break the curse, Stiles, and if it doesn’t work… you can tease me about it when you wake up,” Derek’s lips pressed against the fabric above Stiles' heart.

He was sure it was beating like a jackhammer, about to escape his chest.

Derek pulls away for a couple seconds, then starts chanting in Latin, “Tester animum audire orationem meam.”

A nice heat settles in his stomach, pulsing throughout his body and feeling safe. Derek's chanting continues until the words fade out.

The world stops being such a black abyss and Stiles feels his pinkie move.

His mother fucking pinkie moves!

It’s the proudest moment of his life. And he opens his eyes. This is not a hospital. The forests leaves were crackly beneath his juddering feet.

Nope, this is not a hospital at all.

Somehow Stiles is standing in the middle of the woods, with a surprised Derek standing in front of him, “What’s going on Derek?”

Before he could move, Derek is on him, hugging him way harder than necessary, but Stiles can’t complain.

It’s human contact, and for some reason, he’d been craving it.

“Sorry,” Derek bit out, stepping back, but keeping a hand on Stiles' shoulder.

“It’s fine,” Stiles reassured, “Where are we?”

Derek looked around, taking in the environment, “This is most likely your mind. The spell I did require me to go inside your head and lead you out of it.”

Stiles raised his eyebrows, “So, we’re in my brain?”

“Yes,” Derek looking less confident, glanced around at the rapidly darkening forest, “And I’m supposed to guide you out.”

“Well, let’s go,” Stiles said.

That whole “Let's go!” thing, was easier said than done. They barely made it two steps when they both were swept into one of Stiles biggest fantasies.

Lydia Martin was giving him a foot rub. (Of course, this was 16-year-old Stiles fantasies.) Derek was watching with a disapproving tilt to his head.

Stiles rolled his eyes, “What? I’ve got ADHD, I can’t control my thoughts. I can’t focus. You’ll have to deal with the sudden scenery changes.”

“Whatever,” Derek mumbled, sending fake Lydia a glare, “Let’s get going.”

And then again, as soon as Stiles broke it off from Lydia, they were in his bedroom, watching fake him jerk it off on the bed.

“Goddammit!” Stiles cried out in disbelief,  ~~his other self-looking over at Derek with interest,~~ “Why does this shit always happen to me?"

 Derek shifts uncomfortable next to him, “I'm not sure how to handle this situation."

Stiles groans, sheltering his eyes, “How about you stop fucking watching, you pervert."

Sighing, Derek mutters profanities under his breath. 

“Let's just get out of here before we see anything too scarring. ”

* * *

 

Stiles regrets everything in life. Fuck the universe and everything that led to this moment. Like the goddamn faeries for instance.

_"Let's just get out of here before we see anything too scarring. ”_

Because as soon as Derek says this, they are swept to another dark corner of his brain. Literally swept. By a gigantic broom. The pun is too real here.

They end up in this field. It goes on for as long as the eye can see and it's full of this wheat that comes to his chest. And he turns to Derek because he's the fool that's supposed to guide Stiles out of this mess. 

But when he see's Derek he freezes. _Literally freezes._  Ice dangles from his nose kind of freezes. Fucking brain. 

Derek is a five-foot tall horse of a wolf. Full on twilight mode wolf. Like, holy shit Derek just went Jacob Black on him. He's monstrously huge with a black coat and glowing red eyes. _And Stiles yells, what the fuck?_

And when Stiles yells, "What the fuck?" All Derek does is huff because what else is he supposed to do. He's a wolf. He can't talk. And Stiles' brain whammed him like this.

"Alright, spirit guide. Do your thing," He ends up saying. A saddle appears on Derek's back, much to the wolf's annoyance, and who is Stiles to refuse? He clambers on.

After a minute of silent running through the field, Stiles speaks, "Anytime I thought about riding you, this wasn't what I had in mind."

Derek grunts an animal sounding grunt and keeps running. And keeps running. And keeps running.

They run for a minute straight before his mind starts to wander.

 _Oh boy_ , does it wander because the field abruptly turns into the preserve. The saddle's gone from Derek's back and Stiles clings onto the fur as he slows down to a walk. 

 Then, slowly, Derek turns back into a human. With Stiles piggybacking him. He scampers off a glaring Derek, dusting off his pants and glancing around them. 

"I think I know where we are," Stiles says.

"Where?"

Pointing north, "The Nemeton is over there. Like, five feet away."

Derek looks startled, "What? We need to get as far away from that as possible."

"Why?" Stiles asks, confused.

"The Nemeton is bad news, Stiles."

Stiles shakes his head, "No. The Nemeton isn't bad. It's magic. Unfortunately, people use it for bad. But the Nemeton itself isn't bad, per say."

"Alan says I'll know where to go and I _know_ we shouldn't go that way," Derek tries.

"Deaton isn't always right. Plus, I have this feeling, Derek. Maybe it's a shortcut," Stiles says, giddily, "Come on. Let's check it out."

Derek frowns, "This is a bad idea, Stiles. But, I'll come with you because you'll probably get lost on your own. Or hurt."

"Chin up, Sourwolf. This could be our way home!"

* * *

It isn't their way home. At all.

The Nemeton sits chillingly still and inviting in the middle of a clearing. Sitting in the middle of its trunk is a person. No, a woman.

She's got braided brown hair, flowing over her petite shoulders, and wide owlish eyes that blink slowly at the sight of him. Her hands cradle a swollen stomach. 

"My little Gem," Her voice crows. It flutters musically through the air and sucks the life from his expression. Derek's immediately on high alert.

Until he mumbles, "Mom?"

"Hey, baby," She smiles warmly, stroking her stomach gently. "How are you doing?"

He feel's like he's flying, "Great. Really great."

She nods, her eyes like honey, "That's wonderful, baby. How old are you now?"

"Seventeen."

"Wow, My little Gem is almost a man. I'm still growing you in my stomach here. You want to come feel?"

Before he can frantically nod and fall into her arms, Derek grabs his elbow. Derek's face is stone, and his grip is like iron. 

"That isn't your Mom, Stiles," His voice is stern like an Alpha. "Somethings not right. I'm getting a bad feeling."

Stiles practically growls, "I know it's not my real Mom. This is my brain. But I get to touch her for the first time in nine years and you aren't going to fuck that up for me. Okay, Mr. paranoid?"

"She's sat like a fucking present on the Nemeton, Stiles," Derek almost shouts, "How stupid are you to fall for that?"

"The Nemeton isn't bad, Derek. It's just magic. And maybe this _is_ magic. Good magic. I wouldn't hold you back for your family. Don't hold me back for mine."

Derek looks torn, eventually saying, "Please don't go."

Stiles looks back towards his Mom. She's looking at him so earnestly and happily. The air around her is even glowing. She's literally got that pregnancy glow people talk about.

A tear runs down his cheek because she's so beautiful and healthy looking. He wishes his Dad were here to see her like this. 

"Baby, why are you crying?" Her voice sends a tremble to his heart.

He wipes his snot on his sleeve, "Because you're not my real Mom. And I can't come hug you. And it's breaking my heart."

Her face looks pessimistic now, "I _am_ your Mom, Little Gem."

Sobbing, Stiles shakes his head, "I love you, Mommy. But we have to go now."

The air turns electric around them. The blue sky filling with grey clouds. His Mom stands up, face morphing and body toning. Wings sprout on her back in eight-foot spans. Her hair turns into a vibrant green colour and wraps like a turban around her head.

His Mom stands up, face morphing and body toning. Wings sprout on her back in eight-foot spans. Her hair turns into a vibrant green colour and wraps like a turban around her head.

Her eyes get beady like an insect and her lips crack with little moisture.

His Mom turns into a motherfucking faerie.

* * *

 

" _Well, Well, Well-_ " Her voice squawks like a bird. 

Stiles interrupts her quickly, "Can you cut the monologuing because it's very unoriginal and kind of tacky. Just saying."

Derek growls beside him, shifting quickly into a werewolf-horse again. The faerie pauses, looking thrown off. Then shakes her head.

"Allow me to introduce myself," She says, gesturing her arm like an air hostess, "My name is Alina, Queen of the Earthly Fae Realm."

"Kay," Stiles nods, "Why are you in my head, though?"

"I was trapped in here when our clan tried to destroy you. My connection broke. Now, I was waiting for you to appear. I took the shape of your Mother from a picture in your wallet so that you would come to me and I could complete it."

"Why don't you just let me out so we can expel you? Then you won't have to kill anyone." He replies.

The faerie shakes her finger, "I must rape you because I am the Queen of the Earthly Fae Realm. For it is my duty."

_What._

_Rape?_

The sky is so grey.

Derek growls loudly, he breaks into a sprint, gaze locked at the faeries neck. He's going to rip out her throat. 

She hits him with the back of her hand like it's nothing.

"When you say rape-" He began, breaking off in a cold sweat, "-what do you mean?"

The faerie cocks her eyebrow, "I mean kill."

Relief floods through him. ~~Not because she intends to kill him, but because he can rule out the possibility of being _... that._~~ "Thank God."

Her eyes gleam with amusement, "You want me to destroy you?"

He quickly shakes his head, "Nah. But rape means something totally different to humans."

She nods like understands, even though she probably doesn't, "I'm going to attack you now."

"Wait!" He squeaks. 

"What?" She asks.

He side eyes Derek quickly; the wolf is laying on his side with blood matted in his fur. The side of his head is wounded and his werewolf powers aren't healing him. 

"Can you not kill me, please? Or at least wait until we aren't trapped inside my own head?"

"And why would I do that?"

"Because you have honour. You want to have a fair fight. You respect that I'm out for the count right now and you're kind of cheating?"

She narrows her eyes, "Cheating?"

"Yeah," He replies. "You technically are. F.Y.I."

Derek starts to move. Stiles wills him to stay still.  _For the love of God,_ He thinks, _Stay down Derek._

"Between us, it's would never be a fair fight. You're just a human. A weak motherless human. You're asking me to take pity. But I will tear you to shreds. Skin you. Rape you. Harvest you. Then I'll finally take pity and eat you. You're worthless. So try and talk your way out. But I will devour you."

Derek springs off the floor, surprising her enough to rip her head clean off her body. Blood spurts everywhere. Coating the Nemeton and forest floor in gore.

There's a feral red glint in his eye.

Stiles hold his breath, all the clouds are gone, "Derek?"

His head snaps towards stiles, quickly shifting back into a human. The sky is _so_ blue. "Stiles? Are you okay?"

"I'm fine. Are you?"

"Yeah." Derek nods. A distant far-away aura floated around him. "I think I know where we need to go."

* * *

 

The walk to the Hale house, completely silent.

Leaves crinkle below their feet. Birds chirp in the trees. The sun beats down from the clear sky.

"I'm sorry about your Mom," Derek whispers.

Stiles grimaces, "It's fine, Derek. I'm already over it."

And Stiles knows that Derek heard his heart flutter. Derek knows it's a lie. But he doesn't call him out because Derek's a true bro.

The Hale house isn't a hull of fiery anti-smoking propaganda. In fact, it's living up to all its glory. White siding, green shudders, red door. Derek looks like he's about to have a breakdown.

"This is what it use to look like?" Stiles asks.

Derek shakes his head, "No. This is what _your_ mind thinks it looked like. In reality, the siding paint was brown. The shudders were white, just like the door."

"Oh. Sorry."

"No," Derek says quickly, "I like this version. A lot."

Stiles blushes as the walk into the house. 

White light explodes around them. Then everything turns black.

* * *

 

_Beep. Beep. Beep._

When Stiles comes too, or rather feels like he’s lucid again, he _can_ move.

He can move his pinkie. He can move his entire fucking hand. He opens his eyes.

The entire pack-- excluding Derek-- are standing around his hospital bed. Erica speaks first, "Welcome to the land of the living, Batman."

Boyd says, "You're Dad got called into the station."

He opens his mouth to respond but just groans. His throat feels like the surface of mars, more parched than the sahara desert. The sound jolts the lot of them and Allison holds out a paper cup with water.

And _ho boy_ , he drinks that sucker dry. 

Coughing to clear his voice, "Where's Derek?"

Scott looks confused, " _Bro_. You just got out of a four-month coma. Care about yourself for once."

Four-months? Derek had said three. So, the both of them had been roaming his mind for a solid month? Or was Derek still trapped?

"Where is he?"

Issac speaks up, "About a three weeks ago he visited you. The nurses found him comatose on your chest. It freaked us out, man. We thought it might have been contagious. Supernaturally."

"Deaton filled us in, " Lydia said, "Apparently the idiot thought it was a good idea to dream walk by himself."

"He's next door," Erica filled in. "Probably already woken up."

"Let's go," Stiles said. 

The nurses (mostly Milissa Mcall) agreed to let him visit Derek, only if he used a wheelchair. So, Scott took great pleasure wheeling him the ten feet to Derek's room. The man of the hour is sitting up in bed, being fussed at by a nurse. 

"Stiles?" He bats the nurse and thermometer away, eyes fixed on him.

"Hey, Derek." Stiles grins.

Fed up, the nurse leaves the room. Finally.

"Thanks for saving me," He adds.

Derek nods, "Anytime."

"Anytime, huh?" Stiles teases, pretending the entire pack isn't listening in to every word they say. "You'll regret saying that. I'm _kind of_ the pack's trademarked damsel."

"I'll never regret it," He says, seriously.

Stiles beams, "Okay."

They stare at each other for a couple seconds.

Erica groans, "This is, even more, UST than before. _God-_ "

"Hey, Stiles," Derek interrupts, "How about you tell the pack about our plans for the old house."

"What?" Stiles' eyebrows scrunch up.

Derek smiles, "White siding, green shudders, red door."

 _Oh._  

John Stilinski run up to the door, "What did I miss?"

The pack laughs. _And Stiles moves his pinky._

**Author's Note:**

> I love comments. So... please comment?


End file.
